


Canas Gets Invaded

by MeltyRum



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Franken Fran, Made in Abyss (Anime), Persona 3
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltyRum/pseuds/MeltyRum
Summary: Canas is living with Madaraki Fran, enjoying her library and avoiding the new robot she's created, Aigis.
Kudos: 3
Collections: Generic Roleplay Fantasy





	Canas Gets Invaded

Canas sat in his borrowed room, resting at the modest desk as he studied one of Fran's books. The books and tomes, he had found, were often of milder, less disturbing material than the practical results of Fran’s actual work. He had been working his way through the titles which were unfamiliar to him, occasionally taking notes where he found them useful, on subjects both scientific and magical in nature, assuming there was any logical way of making a meaningful distinction.

He reflected on the magical tomes he had built his expertise in, considering the destructive power of his own dark magic. It was dubious how well it was understood—even to scholars of his caliber. There were many people who thought they completely comprehended many subjects, when in fact there was a wealth of knowledge to which they remained ignorant. Mages like Canas may have mastered the ability to turn a few runes and chants into targeting tendrils and life-stealing black magic, but what if there were secrets beyond intelligent insight thus far?

What if, for example, these practiced and polished spells that Canas could brandish in an instant were already flirting with unseen disaster? A mere additional rune here, an extra chant or a slip of the tongue there… and the tried-and-true spell that rent enemies in two went a step further: the tendrils, instead of disappearing quietly back into nothingness, cling desperately onto their existence in our realm and eject themselves from the beloved pages of the tome, revealing that the tentacles were simply the most relatable appendages on a creature gigantic and terrible beyond any possible imagining.

Yet Canas could not find himself too concerned. He was quite diligent about not experimenting out of turn, and considered himself a very safe sort of magician. Not to mention, he had already witnessed a handful of disturbing happenings in Fran’s company that he would have considered beyond imagining. The planet on which they lived may have survived thus far, but Canas got the sickening feeling that many more locally-sized tragedies were occurring all around him. He wasn’t entirely sure if Fran was to blame, but the specter of this suspicion was proving impossible for Canas to shake himself free of.

In a way, the eldritch horrors which Canas regularly teased with his incantations were nothing at all to fear, compared to the horrors which inhabited this very mansion with him.

The newest addition had been Fran’s mechanical assistant, whom she had affectionately named “Aigis”. To Canas’s relief, this one was a good sight less horrible than the others he had bumped into around her abode. Other than perpetual confusion and having the social graces of a gobsmacked child, she was mostly inoffensive company—and company she _was_ , since Fran had ordered her to grow and learn as she pleased, which often meant joining Canas in the library for some light reading—or even tutoring.

She was not a particularly good student, Canas soon found, though she was polite enough to feign interest. Her curiosity seemed to be piqued by the most random of subjects—she might like reading about the mysteries of butterflies but find the intricacies and diligence of ants in their colonies to be utterly boring. In that way, she was much like a child, with caprices and interests of her own, though she was certainly much more reserved than the traditional humanoid adolescent.

A child… Fran had said something about that, Canas believed. Using the soul or remains of a human girl to create Aigis? Canas could not recall the details—and in some ways was grateful not to; he shuddered to imagine the power necessary to manifest life in a golem like Aigis. And in any case, could they be certain it was a _child_ that inhabited her and guided her motions? What if it was… something else—the other one percent? A creature from the very dimension which Canas so regularly tapped for his magics? A creature which observed, learning, waiting until it could use what it knew to mount an invasion of its own…

Canas shook his head; he knew these thoughts were pure conjecture and paranoia. His nerves had been fraught, of late, owing largely to a lack of sleep. Canas had rested in many an abode where things went bump in the night, but this place had… too many things and too many bumps. He had been assured there was little danger as long as he stayed outside of the basement (though he was welcome to explore there as well, Fran had assured him), but his fear extended beyond that of the… corporeal.

Every moment in the mansion, it was as though Canas felt an itch—but not one he could scratch himself. It sometimes sat at the base of his neck, or just under the top of his scalp, or between his ears, or behind his eyeballs, sometimes feeling more like a warning than an itch—as though something _else_ would scratch that itch if he spent too long here.

He theorized that this was because of what he was learning, in addition to the admittedly creepy denizens of Fran’s home. The wealth of knowledge that she hoarded was astounding—so much so that a fire in her mansion would spell a gigantic loss for civilized life, not to mention quite a loss _of it—_ and of uncivilized life, too, he supposed. Canas gorged himself on the books she provided him, worried that he was not pacing himself well: every thickly bound journal and book simply made him more and more curious about what else her library contained.

Slowly, Canas came to the realization that he was biting off more than he could chew—on so many levels. On more than one occasion, he suspected the books were chewing on _him_. Canas began to struggle with his memory; he recognized that there was a practical limit to the knowledge one human brain could contain, and he felt he had no real control over that storage limitation. As information entered him, he wondered what previous information was being kicked out as the new tenants moved in.

Yes, a noble pursuit of knowledge was not as simple as it might seem.

So, in that sense, perhaps Aigis ought to be lauded for being an artificial being who could learn more or less on command—and Fran lauded for being able to create her, regardless of whether or not it cost the immortal soul of a young maiden from beyond. Truly, there was a _lot_ that Fran could be lauded for—the question was whether it outweighed the deeds for which she ought to be burned at the stake, which might also require a few hands to count out if you took some time to really think about it.

Not that Canas would be keeping count… and not that he wouldadvocate any such thing, naturally.

Out of duty, Aigis would read through every tome on herbalism that existed, since her primary function involved gathering objects of that nature. This was a rather enlightening experience for Canas, as well, whose knowledge of flora had hitherto been somewhat limited. What’s more, he considered it particularly valuable to know what plants most interested _Fran_ , whose many various experiments often remained opaque and mysterious to him.

Nearly as amazing as Fran’s experiments was the fact that she received visitors of any polite nature. A human who needs this, an elf who needs that… and nearly all of Fran’s solutions involved a trip to her operating room, the procedures in which Canas had infrequently observed with a queasy fascination, attempting to discern the steps to her grisly recipes. When it came to designing this sort of procedure… how many parts were magic and how many parts science? Was this a useless question? To any layman, it would all seem like a dark and dangerous magic—it even seemed that way to Canas, really, although he took a charitable view of it, considering his own tendency to dabble in darkness.

He wondered at the gumption it must take to seek assistance from a figure so puzzling and powerful as Fran. Of course, Canas was in no position to judge—he was here entirely at her mercy, which seemed to be generous and all-encompassing, despite _everything_ you might expect from the charnel contents of her mansion. He had seen on multiple occasions the “farms” where she grew and developed an assortment of body parts to be harvested for future use:

Organs to match nearly any intelligent species, or skins in colors and textures of all sorts. Fur-covered leather in one tank, some coarse and scaly skin in this tub, or a pulsing pink mass of organ (?) in another. This stockpile of grisly backups was impressive, to say the least, and Fran always seemed able to produce exactly what she needed in order to cure any given malady.

In some ways—despite Canas’s bodily fears—living with Fran was, in fact, the safest place to be. Whatever might happen to you, Fran could formulate a plan and the materials necessary in order to preserve your life… one way or another. Canas had witnessed with his own eyes the… _interesting_ solutions Fran would apply to her patients. This creativity of hers was nothing short of astounding—a trait that she had apparently _not_ shared with her own creation, Aigis.

Yet… Fran certainly must have been a construct of some sort, herself. She bore only passing resemblance to any other humanoid race; so what sort of thing had created _her_? Was he or she even half the surgeon or half the magician that Fran appeared to be? How does such an impressive being come to be in the first place? Would any of her creations end up replacing her in much the same way?

Canas likely could have asked these questions, but he was reluctant to tread where he might be unwelcome. Even a “kind” soul like Fran surely had a line which shouldn’t be crossed, and perhaps those lines were the very ones which charmed her face, if “charming” was the appropriate word. Canas suspected it might be; in fact, it was not rare for him to wonder about his feelings for Fran on a daily basis, and being “charmed” by her is what he often settled on. Canas would consider himself lucky to be of any assistance to her research.Even before this, when he’d seen her library, Canas was so overcome with awe that he could have kissed her then and there (though Canas had practiced restraint, naturally).

Of course… a reverence for Fran’s knowledge and skill was quite a different thing from love. It was more likely that the perpetual butterflies in his stomach originated from his perpetual fear of being caught in a room alone with one of Fran’s servants or bodyguards, docile though they may be. In that way, Aigis was a marked improvement over the others—she was so much less… _meaty_. Canas had developed the regrettable habit of stealing into empty rooms and closets when he spotted monstrous servants stalking the halls, deciding he wasn’t quite ready to gaze upon their unfortunate features.

It was an indescribable mercy that Fran’s electricity extended to most the rooms in the house, then. It never hurt to turn on the light and verify that all was well in a room—he’d quickly trained himself out of fearing this practice.

There was quite a lot of fearful human instinct that he needed to train himself out of, in fact.

This thought in mind, Canas stood up from his desk and adjusted the seating of his monocle, rubbing briefly at the edge of his eye. He had not yet wandered to the basement unattended, but decided that today would be the day. While he hoped he would not need it, he dug out his own tome of arcane arts from the pile upon his desk, holding it tightly to his chest as he stole out of his room and down to the first floor.

To his relief (?), he was alone, and he strode with determination toward the entrance to the basement, borrowing a lantern from its hook and lighting it as he made his way. After a deep breath, he began descending the stairwell, closing the first-floor door behind him so that he might allow his eyes to grow used to the lantern light. He seemed to remember hearing Fran say that some of the… things… in the basement were sensitive to light, so it tended to remain dark, on the whole. He hoped that she was referring to the flesh she grew, and nothing more frightening than that.

(He knew this was a futile hope, but Canas was the optimistic sort.)

Canas’s mother had always encouraged him to embrace darkness and power, and Fran’s basement sure seemed to contain a whole lot of both of those—to different degrees in different parts of the basement, he knew. The mischievous flame of the lantern—while it provided the warmth and certainty of sight expected of it—cast mysterious, quivering shadows which made Canas wonder if a light source was a mistake. Were he more familiar with less sinister magics, Canas could probably create a light source himself, but unless he wanted to be accompanied by a dull purplish glow emanating from his grimoire of spells, the lantern light would have to suffice.

Immediately the corridors of the basement felt too large for Canas; his light seemed unable to reach every surrounding wall at once, and the darkness in the hallway ahead of him seemed unnaturally black and opaque just past the edge of his lantern-light. Briefly, Canas considered abandoning this foray into the depths of Fran’s mansion, very suddenly reminded of every horror story he had ever read… but after a deep breath and a sigh of resignation, he forced his feet to inch forward, his bearing opposite the direction where Fran’s operation room was.

Canas was seeking something new, after all: the sight of something yet unseen by his eyes—this was knowledge, too, after all. Even if it frayed a few nerves, that was a reasonable price to pay for the privilege.

The occasional door passed him by on his left or right as he proceeded, and each one proved a bit too foreboding for him to consider it for his first stop. The corridor did not take many twists, but Canas took great care to memorize each one he took, deciding he would hug the right side of the path when he came to any forks—this way a quick escape should still lead him back to the stairs… not that any such thing would be necessary. Canas tried to remind himself that he was not a child, and that Fran would not simply have murderous creatures wandering her basement unfettered… just some unsettling ones, maybe.

At least, Canas hoped very strongly that that would be the case. Everything seems so much more dangerous in the dark; that’s why sensible people put on their pajamas and slipped into bed once the sun had set.

The scholar resisted the urge to close his eyes as he walked, some primal and fearful part of his body telling him that the darkness created by his eyelids would be much more agreeable than the mysterious darkness just beyond the edge of his lantern. When he turned a corner only to be confronted with a door which which had been forced ajar and was hanging precariously from its hinges, Canas briefly neglected to breathe, listening intently for anything that might be shuffling within our without.

All the shaman heard was… nothing, which was somehow worse than the alternative. There was no draft in the basement—like the rest of Fran’s impressive mansion, all seemed airtight and cozy. And this far into the dark corridors, with this depth of inky blackness, the sound of nothing at all ended up feeling very loud indeed. It felt to Canas as if he now existed inside a blankness of noise, with the pressure of the halls and the murkiness of his surroundings pressing in on his eardrums in a roar that impeded all power of sensation.

Once his lungs had had quite enough and forced him to exhale, this illusion of deafness was shaken, and Canas felt the terror tentatively loosen its grip on him. He cleared his throat and stamped his foot a few times just to verify that he could, in fact, hear just as well as ever, and Fran’s basement had no supernatural impediments to speak of—leastwise, none that he could discern from here.

“I don’t suppose there’s anyone here just now?” he asked, aiming his voice at the wooden door, which still hung agape, as if clumsily gesturing for him to come and enter.

As the shaman had expected, no answer came.

“Well… that’s probably for the best,” he said, encouragingly, to himself.

But another piece of him said this: silence doesn’t mean nothing is there—it just means things are silent, so if something _is_ there then it’s just not making a very big show of it. Your odds would be so much better—if something _was_ there—if it made a snuffling or slurping or shuffling or slithering sound of some sort. It really was a wonder how many unpleasant words began with “S”, once you really took the time to think about it.

“Silence” was one of those words, too, Canas decided.

He shook his head, trying to let go of his thoughts before they ruined him; the itching under his scalp had grown quite a lot itchier, and the hairs on the back of his neck had started a new fad which involved standing stock straight, as though they’d just been summoned for their first morning of boot camp and were hoping to make a lovely impression on the drill instructor.

The shaman felt an ache in his bowels—a fearful one that begged him to turn around. Not to _leave_ , it said, but to _see_. Always a good idea to make sure nothing’s behind you, you know.

Canas quietly refused this demand, deciding that—if something was behind him—he was better off not seeing it until it had already impaled him. Some things can’t hurt you as long as you don’t look at him, a shred of his childhood thoughtfully reminded him.

So, with the sigh of someone who has lived a life with few regrets, Canas finally stepped forward, shining his lantern into the other room so that he might get a preview of what lay on the other side, before he shuffled his way into the rest of the room, bowing reflexively to the strangely charismatic hinge-hanging door which welcomed him in.

Canas started by surveying the perimeter of the room, and was quickly relieved to see that his lantern could light nearly all of it—except for the floor, which was obscured by a maze-like series of waist-high structures, the surfaces of which were blackened and strangely textured. A faint and sweet odor of decay hung in the air, but the scholar decided that it was mostly inoffensive. A blackboard on the wall suggested this may have been a classroom, but desks or chairs were nowhere to be seen.

The scholar looked toward the broken door, giving it a concerned frown, since he felt he would be _much_ more comfortable if he could shut it behind him while he examined the room. Of course, he realized there was a risk of trapping himself _inside_ with anything that might live here, but he suspected any danger would be lying outside the room—should there be any danger at all. Not that there _should_ be any danger at all.

In any case, this flawed-but-friendly-looking door would just have to stay open, given its condition.

He turned his attention to the rest of the room, slipping between a pair of the waist-high curiosities in an effort to give them a closer examination. Approximately two feet wide and just as tall, it appeared to be a long brick trough which had been filled with… something. Hesitant to touch the substance, Canas took a closer look—and got a free smell to go with it. It was certainly living—or used to be; the dark and coarse matter within the brick reminded him of loam, black and moist… perfect for the cultivation of plant life.

On the subject of plant life, Canas believed that would explain the vaguely filmy substance which graced the loam at measured intervals. Indeed… these troughs were beginning to look like quite a lot of flower beds or miniature farm rows. Only… who would be growing plants in the basement? Fran? Or… the creator who came before her, perhaps?

“Interesting,” he said to himself. “Does not resemble any fungus I would recognize… but I can’t deny the possibility.”

If anything, it reminded him of moss. Just… a very, very dark kind of moss. Maybe describing it as a mold would be more accurate. Well… Canas wasn’t clueless on the subject, but it wasn’t his expertise; he’d settle on calling it a moss, for now. It was less threatening that way.

Slowly, he paced his way through the rest of the room, scrutinizing _whatever it was_ , observing that the same plant matter had taken root in every row of soil. The earthiness of the moss’s aroma actually played quite nicely with the saccharine odor of rotting vegetable matter; Canas tried to find some comfort in it, closing his eyes and imagining that he was back beneath the sky, surrounded by the moist air of the outdoors during a drizzle. A bit like home, he thought.

“Perhaps if I thought of this basement as being like the cave’s surrounding mother’s hermitage, I could put myself at ease,” he said, taking a deep and reassuring breath of fetid, mossy air.

Satisfied with his new peace and the results of his investigations thus far, he turned back toward the door to continue his adventure…

Whereupon he nearly dropped his lantern, and may have screamed if he weren’t busy gasping in fright.

A flash of sinister blue. Red stumps of horn at the head. A pallid exterior. A crown of… blonde…? And those weren’t horns, were they. Aha. It took a moment for Canas to draw up enough breath to speak.

“Aha. M-my apologies. You… you just… you startled me, Aigis,” Canas conceded, his voice level but his heart pounding so hard it hurt his chest and ears.

Aigis simply stared at him, as though she did not understand what “startled” meant but was too embarrassed to admit it. “You were speaking to someone,” she observed.

“Oh.” Canas swallowed, realizing suddenly how dry his throat felt. “That’s true. Well—no, I mean, that’s _not_ true. I was simply speaking to… myself.” That’s no crime, he told himself. Speaking to yourself was like mental lubrication—it was speaking to things that weren’t there that you needed to worry about.

While Canas quietly reassured himself, Aigis’s face remained neutral; still, he felt the distinct sting of judgment in her gaze. She parted her lips after a painful silence: “If you require help, I am sure that Miss Fran would be happy to assist you.”

Canas shook his head, confident he would be unable to get Aigis to understand. “I’m just fine, but I appreciate your concern.” He turned back toward the rows of loam and moss. “I saw the door had been knocked open, so I decided to investigate a little more closely.It looks like this room was once used to house and grow some sort of plant. Not a fungus, I don’t think, so I was surprised to see life still grows in an unused room like this.”

Aigis blinked once or twice before realization dawned on her. “That is incorrect, Mister Canas—”

“Ah, just _Canas_ will do just fine.”

Aigis nodded diplomatically. “That is incorrect. You implied that the room was no longer in use, but Miss Fran is still using it for the growth of these plants.” She looked to the lantern in Canas’s hands. “It is bad to shine light onto them.”

He blinked, surprised to have stumbled onto something his “student” seemed to know _more_ about than he. Canas meekly pulled a fold of his robe over the lantern in an effort to dim the light, though he could barely see as it was.

“Well, I’ll try not to damage their growth. Very well, Aigis. It sounds like you know what this is, then. Does Fran have you collect this sort of thing, too?”

“No. Miss Fran grows this for one of her friends.”

“I see. One of her customers. But you do know what it is?”

She nodded again. “It was explained to me that this moss is used to attract demons. But only ones that have ‘already crossed to this side’.” Aigis seemed pleased, as though satisfied at having delivered an adequate explanation. “That is why I am here; I sensed the light upon it and came to discover what the disturbance was.” She paused briefly before adding: “It is also an excuse to get out from under the sky.”

Canas glanced to the moss before returning his gaze to Aigis’s. “Ah, so that’s what you meant by not shining the light onto it.” He paused to reflect, and a worried expression grew on his face. “I-in that case, perhaps we ought to move this discussion to the hallway; I didn’t mean to start… attracting demons.” He gave her a brief look before leading her to the hallway, shuffling around the corner to discourage any light leakage onto the moss.

That was true, though, wasn’t it? Fran had said something about putting _an actual demon_ inside her newest assistant. One percent demonic, was it? So… if Canas bumped into her a hundred times, should he expect something untoward in one of those meetings? For some reason, he had not the desire to ask Aigis _or_ Fran about that.

“Well… was the demon inside you… satisfied to see the plant?” he asked, trying to gauge the nature of how the moss seemed to attract demons.

Aigis simply looked a bit confused at his probing, though. “No, the feeling is more like it was… hungry.” She paused, her face managing to remain blank while still looking vaguely annoyed.

Canas tried to ignore the disturbing twist in his stomach on hearing that.

“I have never felt hungry before,” Aigis continued. “It is unsatisfying. Please do not light the moss there if your business is complete.” With a curt nod, she turned to go.

As he watched her make her exit, he wrestled with whether or not he should follow Aigis back upstairs and conclude his adventure here—or perhaps chance a deeper exploration into the mansion’s basement.

Baby steps, he reminded himself. It was no use exhausting himself on his first trip—and besides, he _did_ learn something, even if the knowledge came from Fran’s artificial humanoid—a most confusing being without emotion or critical thought, it seemed. But perhaps that was just for now… she did have a demon inside her, after all, and he _knew_ that they could grow and develop just fine. And Fran had said she might live forever, if “all went well”.

He hoped the demon would not be the only thing within her developing, then.

As he brandished his lantern, he made sure not to lose sight of Aigis’s back as he followed her return to the stairs. He ought to write of what he saw today, after all—and perhaps the books in Fran’s library contained greater details on the moss he had seen today… like a name, for example. He would consider the day a success, he thought; he may not have stumbled on the be-tentacled creatures which he feared might inhabit the depths of Fran’s basement, but… well, but _nothing_. Survival should be its own reward, couldn’t it?

So he was grateful for this, at least: he had been neither physically invaded by tentacles nor spiritually invaded by a demon, himself. But this otherworldly moss… it was something he could research; it would suit a shaman like himself to know it more intimately. And considering the circumstances surrounding his discovery of it, he was certain not to forget it; there was something to be said for learning in the field, rather than out of a dusty tome.

Indeed—knowledge that one can’t forget… that might be considered another kind of invasion, in a way.


End file.
